


Double Overtime

by Dusty_Forgotten



Series: Mike Schmidt is Done with Your Shit [2]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Gen, Hallucinations, Horror, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2190885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mike Schmidt is out of fucks to give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Overtime

Why the _fuck_ do you still work here? Seriously, you got fired last week. But hey, the paychecks kept coming, so what the hell? Besides, you’ve still got to figure out _what the actual fuck is going on here_ , or it’ll bother you for the rest of your life.

This you consider as you brush Bonnie’s teeth. She- he, it, you’re starting to wonder because purple aside, she’s wearing a bowtie, and no flowers or anything that would actually suggest she’s a girl. Fuck it; Freddy and Foxy are dudes, might as well even it out. Anyway, Bonnie rotates her head slightly, but you follow.

“Get used to it,” you tell her, because you’ve started talking to these fuckin’ things, “if you’re gonna be breathing down my neck all night, you’re at least gonna have pleasant breath.” She blinks irritably, screams, and you bap her on the nose. She shuts up, and you keep scrubbing, one hand holding her by the ear, the other careful to get _only_ the brush in her mouth. You remember the news article for the thing in ‘87.

You finish with Bonnie’s teeth, and check your watch (finally got the glow-in-the-dark; it’s Batman themed). You’ve still got like twenty minutes before your shift, because you’ve started coming in earlier every day- to try and understand the animatronics better, of course, not because you don’t have a life, or anything. You put the toothbrush back in the cup of stuff you’re taking back to your office- pens, a pair of scissors, a pair of reading glasses- shit you’re never going to use, but should have, because it’s an office. You give everyone a heavy smog of Febreeze before you drag your stuff back to the security office.

It feels a little more homey, now. You’ve replaced the lightbulb with flourescent, because seriously, who the fuck uses incandescent anymore? Yesterday you broke into the supply closet to grab some cleaning supplies, and fucking bleached the place because it smelled like 20-year-old pizza (which you found along with a completely molded over cup of seltzer- EW), piss and vomit (which there probably was), and blood (which you found, along with bits and pieces of the last security guard). The cobwebs are gone, you’ve replaced the creepy children’s drawings with a “Keep Calm and Conserve Power” poster, and got rid of all the trash sitting out on the desk. It’s still a shitty place to work, that’s for sure- you’re pretty sure your boss is dead, but you’re still getting paid, so who gives a fuck? Not you.

You set down the cup on the desk, your coffee on the floor by your chair, turn on the fan, and settle in for the night. You’ve got a six hour shift in three... two... one...

Chica spends like five minutes just standing outside your door. You wave. She doesn’t wave back. Bitch. You cycle the cameras, spot a missing Foxy, and slam the door in his face while you sip your coffee. He knocks nicely, and you check the other hall. “Go away Foxy, I’m keeping my endoskeleton...” Dejected, he scurries back, and you check that he’s behind his curtain again before locating Bonnie and Chica. Freddy’s napping tonight, which makes your life a lot easier.

On cam 2B, you notice something odd about the poster- well, the poster’s often odd, but this is a different hallucination than you usually get- Freddy’s yellow. You shrug it off, looking up to check the lights.

There it is, yellow Freddy, slumped limply against your desk.“Huh.” you mutter, turning attention back to the monitors. “That’s a new one.”

When you remember that you looked up to check the lights, it’s gone. You shrug, and shut the door on Bonnie. Something new to tell your therapist.

On your way out in the morning, you pause by the door backstage. The guy on the phone asked you to check the suits, what, two weeks ago? He’s probably stuffed into one of the costumes. Nobody wants to see that. Besides, then you’d have to call the cops, and if they made it into a crime scene again, you’d lose your job. Nah, you decide, you really aren’t getting paid enough to bother.


End file.
